Soon the ghost appeared. As before, its fingers were bleeding, and it was moaning, “Bloody fingers! Bloody fingers!”
The man paid no attention. He just kept strumming his guitar. But the ghost kept moaning, and its fingers kept bleeding.
Finally, the guitar player looked up. “Cool it, man!” he said. “Get yourself a Band-Aid.”
I own all three of these, conveniently in one book. They are fascinating.